Should I apologize? Is blogging, by it's very nature, exclusively self-indulgent?
I'm not sure anymore. It sure didn't start out that way--I always wrote, journaled, whatever, and am a much better typist than handwriter, so it made sense. Then, when I got to pick templates, well, maybe then I got a bit giddy. Then, when the whole FB thing started, it was seemed kinder to let old friends catch up on Alabama, autism, dementia, and drama at their own pace instead of heaving it out all at once in the "How have you been?" part of the friending process. You know, sort of a "read what you want...this is how it is, and it is what it is...talk about it or don't...it's okay" sort of thing.
Really. That's how it started. It continued because I needed to write to think and I needed to think to accept and I needed to accept to grow. (granted, that's a lot of "I", but really, what kind of mother would I be if I didn't continue to grow? Yes. Utter Bullshit.)
This week I came across a blog written by someone so absolutely wise, so self-assured, so completely confident regarding so very many life issues that still terrify me, inspite of whatever I've managed to glean from my many extra years of unplanned situations and plain old weird outcomes...well, it stopped me cold. Made me cold.
Am I the same? I don't want to be the same. I know how unwise, how scaredy-cat I am. I know I have no idea what I'm doing (um...just today our water got shut off. Seems the bill was misplaced. Alot. Clever, no? No. Not clever).
So then, what's the point? Oh...the point is so much about hidden magic, unexpected beauty, tiny miracles strung together like pearls...all stuff I would miss if not for LRHF and his base magnificence. And the point is that I did not find all this magical beautiful miracle stuff because I'm so freaking bright myself, but rather, that God had to slap me silly a whole damned bunch of times (metaphorically, of course), and the point is that if such gifts exist, even for me, even for my broken old self and my bitten-up soul, then surely, such things are within your reach as well. See, I thought surely I would break and die--I did. Knowing me, I should have. I waited to break and die. But I did not.
Not yet, anyway.
So I'm thinking that this is what I want you to know: You really don't have to break and die either. And you deserve to hear that--no matter what. Just take it, fold it up and stuff it somewhere in the backpocket of your head, will you please? Just in case it gets too dark.
Look, I'm sure of precious damn little, we both know that. But through Grace, through Hope, I am absolutely sure that you can do whatever you need to do.
That's all I've got. Hope it helps.
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2 comments:
Are you so hung up about something that happened a year and a half ago that you need to pitch a cyber hissy fit? You want to fight on our BLOGS? Seriously? Cool.
Sorry you think I'm self-righteous. Um. That's kinda what blogging is. You talk about yourself and what you do. That's what I'm doing. You know WHY I do it? Because I don't know many local people who have similar parenting philosophies to my own. Most of my hippie mommy friends are online. And I want to communicate with them. But I know my reasons for doing things don't matter. Only your reasons matter. Only what you think matters. You are older. Your kids are older. Your life is harder than mine. Yup, I get that. But that doesn't mean my personal experiences have no validity. Because someone DARES do things differently from you and BLOG about it doesn't make them some self-important idiot. But whatever, shit on my stuff. You are so much wiser than me. You are such a better writer. But you don't have exclusive rights to Blogger.
And just for clarification purposes, we did not stopped talking because I judged you. I understand most every thing you do as much as anyone can understand someone else's life situation. I get how you feel. I know how trapped you feel. I have a HUGE amount of empathy for you. Your life is nothing like you imagined. You have been dealt some shitty cards. And I get how those things permeate through every other part of your life. I had to make a decision for ME, for MY FAMILY, that we shouldn't be in each others lives. And that was for one reason -- you were negative about me having a child. You acted like I had ruined my life. You SAID things to a similar affect. I was about to do the most pivotal, life-changing thing of my life, you were suppose to be my friend and support me, and you were negative about it. You are very negative about most things anyway, whatever, again, you have a hard life, I get it. But I couldn't be surrounded by negativity about my child. I have my own issues. I have my own history of anxiety and depression. I have my own worries about maternal health, money problems, etc. And I couldn't take on someone elses anymore. I couldn't. Maybe that makes me weak, but I couldn't.
The fact that you would EVER imply that I was a bad friend to you is ridiculous. I have spent more time with you and your family than ANYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD OUTSIDE OF THE FIVE OF YOU. I gave you EVERYTHING I could. I watched the kids, kept you company, gave you our old appliances, bought you and the kids gifts. And I did those things A LOT for FIVE YEAR. I would go to your house after working nine hours and bathe YOUR kids and put them to bed. Have you ever heard of any other friend who did that for someone? I haven't. And I did those things to help. I did them because we were friends. I didn't want anything in return but a reciprocal friendship. And you were just too wrapped up in your own stuff to give that. And again, I get it, hard life. But you are not the only person in the world. You weren't the only person in the friendship. And that's how it felt -- like you were taking advantage of me. And that sucked.
I hate that I even wrote you this. I hate that I let you get to me. I should've ignored your personal jabs -- your hatred that stems from your own unhappiness, insecurity and jealousy. I shouldn't have let you drag more of your negativity back into my life. But I did. My bad.
Not at all. It's really okay. You hang in there.
Leslie
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